


we deserve a soft epilogue

by pinesboi



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Americans, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Christianity mention, Coercion, Dissection? Sort of?, Entirely Self-Indulgent, Eventual Smut, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, PTSD, Separation, Temporary Character Death, Torture, suffocation, the homophobia is more casual but the torture is not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26096698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinesboi/pseuds/pinesboi
Summary: After the incident with Merrick, everyone is tired. It seems their very bones ache for peace. Andy convinces Joe and Nicky to take some time, collect themselves after the week they've had. Unfortunately, tranquility has never been an abundant resource in their lives._________Or, Joe and Nicky can't catch a break.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 129
Kudos: 546





	1. Chapter 1

Vacation has always been a scarce resource in their lives, despite being alive for nearly a thousand years. Andy had said it came with the job- who could relax when the restlessness of too many lifetimes crawled under the skin like termites and left them with a subtle buzz in their ribcage they couldn't quite shake. This, thought Joe, explained a great deal about her. He mused that part of the reason the universe had picked her for immortality was simply because she couldn't bear to sit still long enough to stay in a grave.

He darkens at the thought, remembering the gunshot wound that tore a pained groan from her every time she sat up too quickly.

The last month had been hectic, even for them. Joe couldn't remember a time when he'd felt so strung out and on edge- not in his undying life, at least. Everything used to move slower, the world turned at it's leisure and civilization came to the agreement that they would follow the pace. Now, it seems, centuries pass in days. Andy losing her healing feels like an abrupt ending to a cadence he wasn't aware he was keeping. If he'd had a say in the matter, he never would've left her side again. He knows all too well how fast mortal lives pass.

But, unfortunately, he'd had exactly no say in the situation. Andy had absolutely demanded that he and Nicky take some time off to relax. He's almost certain that she'd picked up on the way Joe and Nicky had been clinging to each other, if not directly in the other's grasp then well within eyesight. She had exiled the two of them to Spain, for the time being- just to take a couple weeks recovering from the whole ordeal.

Joe thinks of Quynh. How Andy was forced to watch them hurt the person she loved too. How there had been nothing she could do to save her. How she lost her. Joe thinks he sees a mirror in her face, when they both recall Merrick's lab. When he complies to her request, it's at the drop of her voice.

_"Just… Spend time with him, Joe." she said, glancing over at Nicky in the kitchen. "Enjoy a nice holiday. Please."_

So, they made their way to the coast of Spain, taking the time and Copley's freely-offered funds (a weak supplementary apology) to rent out a cottage just a ways south of Valencia. A small, rocky beach could be accessed via an old stone path laid out from the back of the property. It was well out of the way from any major roads, and provided the privacy they needed.

Nicky stops the car when they get to the house. He doesn't move to exit or get the bags, just looks at it quietly. He has moments like this, when his eyes get glassy and distant and any response Joe might get out of him will be short and precise. It’s rarer, these days, now that he has made peace with his God and the universe around him, but there are still occasions where it seems the man Joe loves vacates the body meant to be him.

"Hey, love." Joe says quietly, bringing a hand up to cup the back of Nicky's head. "Where are you at right now?"

Nicky shakes his head. "Budapest. 1933."

He wracks his brain for a memory, the very short time they spent in Hungary all blending together in his mind. "The bath house?"

A smile lights up the corner of Nicky's mouth and he gives him a _look,_ one of Nicky's many _looks_ , the kind that fills him with a pride like no other. He shakes his head again. "No. The opera."

There's a flash of gunfire behind his eyes and the feeling of his scimitar neatly tearing flesh apart as Joe recalls the evening. The opera itself had been magnificent. The man they had been there to kill had been a sniveling coward that he prides himself on forgetting the name of.

"Ah. What has you back that far?"

Nicky shrugs. "Wandering thoughts." He stills, glancing down at his hands which have left the wheel to fold in his lap. "I was remembering when we were separated. _Before_ the bath house."

That part Joe remembers all too well. The times in which the two of them had been separated for a length of time were few in number- though on occasion a job called for it. They both knew that they worked best with the other at their back, their shared millennium creating a tandem step they carried into a firefight. Budapest had been the frustrating end to three years of being apart. He can recall it as the most miserable either of them had ever been in a couple hundred years.

"I'm here, _habibi._ I am here." Joe reassures quietly, though he can't pretend he doesn't understand his lover's concern. When he had first woken amongst Merrick's hired guns in the armored van, without Nicky, there had been a wild rage and terror inside him that threatened to eat his heart alive. "I'm not going anywhere."

Joe gestures a hand towards their cottage, a slow grin melting it's way onto his face. "Look at this. We get time to ourselves. A beach, no jobs to work, no one to bother us should we choose to be… _intimate."_ Nicky raises an eyebrow and gives him a soft chuckle. Joe beams like he's won a trophy. When Nicky still doesn't tear his gaze from a spot in the distant past, Joe pulls back. "You need a minute?"

It takes a moment for him to respond, calculating his answer. "No. I will be alright, I think. A few weeks of respite will be good."

"Okay. If you're sure."

"Positive."

Joe hums and places a quick kiss to Nicky's temple. "I love you, _la mia luna."_

"And I you, _hayati._ " Nicky sighs and claps a hand down on Yusuf's thigh. "So. Last one into the house makes dinner?"

Joe grins from ear to ear. He thinks he could possibly be split in two with all the love he has living in his chest. All the better, he thinks, simply more to love Nicolo with.

"You're on."

********************************************************************

The inside of the cottage retains the heat from outside, but it's not uncomfortable. Nicky has never been adverse to the heat- rather revels in it, as it always brings pleasant memories of his and Yusuf's first summer together. When they had stopped killing and stealing from each other, and it had just been them against all the battles the world had to bring them. He also has a particularly fond memory of Joe entering a river in an attempt to cool off somewhere south of Cairo, and the very early feelings that had blossomed in his stomach at the sight of him.

He has always been thankful that Joe seems to be the only thing capable of pulling himself from his own thoughts. It is always Joe's smile, coaxing him out from inside the cave of his mind, that spares him from the affliction of over-thinking. Nicky had always been a quiet man, externally. Considering, thoughtful. Joe had been the one to bring him into the moments that life brought as they were happening. Taught him to experience each sensation as they came, like riding waves on a boat.

And how thankful he was, to have lived each and every one of those memories with the man that seems to know Nicky's heart like his own.

They stand side-by-side in the kitchen, Nicky with his arms elbow deep in soapy water and Joe not even keeping an inch apart, wielding a towel to dry off the dishes that come his way. Joe had made dinner, as Nicky had (allegedly) pulled him into a kiss just before he made his break for the door of the cottage to slow him down. Nicky had wanted to handle the dishes himself, but Yusuf wouldn't hear of it. Their arms brush as they move, meaning a truly hilarious lack of mobility between them, but Nicolo wouldn't even dream of moving away. No, instead he is content in the way the hair on his forearm stands on end where it nearly touches Joe's, revels in the fact that even after nearly a thousand years he still feels like a giddy child at their shared space.

When they finish, Nicky dries his hands on Yusuf's towel and leans against the counter, a sudden tiredness creeping behind his eyes. Joe takes a further step into his space, reaching out to guide Nicky's chin up for a kiss. It's soft, without much heat behind it, but something about it sends the edges of his lips curling up in satisfaction.

When they do finally break from their kiss, it's so that Nicky can yawn. Joe scoffs in mock offense.

"Really, Nicky? Has my kiss gone so lackluster?"

He cocks an eyebrow, briefly marveling at Joe's poet's tongue. "You'll have to excuse me. I've been driving for two days."

"Are you awake enough to make it down to the beach with me, old man? Or will I have to carry you down to see the sunset?"

Nicky pretends to consider it, quite enjoying the image of Joe carrying him bridal-style down to the shore. "I suppose I could struggle my way down there." He sighs dramatically. "Oh, the things I sacrifice for my love."

Joe pecks him lightly on the cheek. "And how I delight in each one. Come on, I don't want to miss it."

Grabbing his sketchbook from his bag in the living room and a pencil, Joe takes his hand and leads Nicolo out the back door and through the garden. The way to the beach is lined with deep red lantana flowers. The sky is an indecisive blue, _almost_ ready to turn to the pinks and oranges and golds of sunset, but stubbornly hanging just a little longer. The path itself is lined with old cobblestone steps, worn smooth with age. The sound of the waves crashing against the stone shores becomes a comfortable humming in his head, taking up residence where his thoughts should be.

He stares at Joe in the steadily dimming light, and praises his God for allowing him moments such as this.

The beach doesn’t offer much in the way of a soft place to relax, so they opt for a large boulder that breaks the waves off at the edge of the beach. Nicky is content to take off his shoes and lie back on his folded hands behind his head, letting sleepy eyes trace over the edge of straggling sun-tinted clouds. Joe is focused on his sketchbook, looking between it and the other end of the beach where the foliage meets the water.

Nicky has always been a careful man. It was his charge to be wary, to be on guard at any given time. Being a sniper meant being prepared and ready at any moment, mind flying with plans and matching solutions, and why he kept a handgun tucked into his waistband even then. But, in that moment, Nicolo let his shoulders fall from where they crowded his neck. He took a deep breath of sea air mixed with the heady perfume of flowers in bloom and let it overcome his senses.

Joe took note of this, and sent him a smile. They find their own bliss in the simplicity of watching the waves as the sun sinks behind them, silent but appreciative of the view. Blue slips into orange and orange into gold, until suddenly the skyline is purple and black.

They decide to take the long way back to the cottage, walking to the road and following it back to the driveway. Joe and Nicky stay close as ever- not exactly touching, but allowing their shoulders to brush. Nicolo can remember the fledgling years of their relationship, when it seemed all he wanted to do was let Joe speak his quicksilver words of affection until his voice ran hoarse. He still loved those times (most often followed by Nicky kissing him senseless and pulling furiously at Joe's clothes)- but over the hundreds of years they had found peace in silence. In the act of coexisting, with the knowledge that the other half of their soul was breathing and alive beside them.

The walk down the road is quiet. No cars pass- they had picked the location for how distant it was from everything else. No through roads to the nearest town, no trails for people to come by. Close enough to town that they could reach it with a short drive, but far enough out of the way that they wouldn’t be disturbed. 

Nicky sweeps his hand over a bloom on a rose bush, admiring the subtle pink of the flower. With a sly smirk, he plucks one in a swift motion and presents it to Joe. 

"For you."

Joe grins, and Nicolo feels a bit more like himself. There had always been something nearly magic with that smile. He'd never been a man for many words, but he could list a thousand descriptions for the way it could bring daylight a thousand miles beneath the earth, how the glimmer of his onyx-black eyes felt like a holy blessing laid on the land.

"Thank you, my heart," Joe says, admiring the blushing petals. He considers it for a moment, before turning to tuck it behind Nicky's ear. "There. You will have to let me sketch that when we get back."

"Haven't you had enough of my face, _tesoro_?" Nicky jokes. "I would think you would've found another muse after all these years."

Joe stills. Reaches out for his arm so they're face to face. "Never."

He says it with a sincerity that almost knocks Nicolo off of his feet. The weight of this, of _them,_ does that sometimes- catches him off guard and threatens to throw him to the waves. Yet, here he still stands, with Joe looking at him like he had never seen a human face before and doesn't care to see another. His hand cups Yusuf's face, thumb tracing over the line of his cheekbone. The words _I love you_ stick to his tongue. They aren't enough, they have never been enough. He whispers them anyway, quietly, against Joe's lips before drawing him into a kiss.

They are so lost in each other for that moment that neither takes much notice of the van that passes them on the road. In fact, they don't break away until they hear it stop a few yards behind them. Nicky turns to see if he can spot the driver, instantly on edge. The next events happen in quick succession, nearly too fast to parse. A gunshot rings out along the small road, impossibly loud compared to the peace of the waves he'd known only minutes before. Joe slumps into his side, a bullet now buried in his forehead and blood spattered across his face. Nicky scrambles to hold him up and simultaneously withdraw the handgun from his waistband. By the time he has it freed of his clothing, he's met with a familiar creeping darkness as another bullet makes contact with his eye. He feels himself falling, and with the very last remnants of consciousness he grips tightly onto Joe. Nicky's legs buckle underneath him.


	2. Chapter 2

When Joe is once again aware of himself, he’s back in the cottage. There’s still water on the counter from washing dishes, their bags still thrown on the living room floor. Everything is the same as they left it.

  
The hooded figures clad in full tactical gear are new, though.

They stroll in and out of rooms nonchalantly, like they’re window shopping with assault rifles at the ready. One man picks through the kitchen seemingly dissatisfied with the groceries they’ve stocked in the refrigerator. Another rummages in Nicky’s duffle bag on the floor. To Yusuf, in his half-aware state, they seem to be black clad vultures pecking apart the house itself. Some part of him makes a sardonic note that the correlation would make a good line in a poem. 

Joe’s mind seems to fully right itself in his head over the next few seconds, and he’s aware that he’s sitting in one of the dining room chairs with his hands cuffed behind him. Legs too, he asserts after a brief cursory movement of his foot. A few of the vultures keep their gaze trained on him, eyes keen. They don’t let up on their watch. Neither do their fingers slip from the triggers. He looks to his side, and his mouth goes sandy. 

Nicky is cuffed in another one of the chairs next to him. Joe suspects he must have awoken first. His face is covered in still-wet blood. All of it is the wrong shade of scarlet on his skin where the sunset had been not long before. He can spot a deep cut along his forehead, the flesh beginning to fuse itself back together. If the soldiers are put off by the healing they don’t show it. Nicky’s eyes are open but unfocused, staring at something invisible beyond the walls of their cottage. 

“ _ Nicolo?”  _ Joe says in Genovese when he finds control of his tongue again. “ _ Nicolo, are you with me?” _

He nods. It’s loose, like his head is too heavy on his shoulders, but Joe is relieved to get a reply at all. 

One of the men in tactical gear seems to notice his awakening, and calls in some code to the radio on his shoulder. It’s not one that Joe is familiar with- although it was always Booker that had kept up with that sort of thing. The vulture stays in place, but another two come in through the door a moment later. Close behind follows a man- the only one not wearing any sort of military gear or visibly wielding a weapon.

Instead, this man has armored himself in Armani. He wears a tailored navy blue suit, every inch and seam in the fabric impeccable. A gaudy watch glitters and boasts on his wrist, paired with a set of jeweled rings. His body is held proudly, chest and chin set forward like colonizers. The man is handsome, though it’s mostly an engineered sort of handsome. Telltale lines of plastic surgery marr his face as he smiles down at the two of them. 

“Gentlemen,” his voice grates against Joe’s ears with a nasal, American accent. “So glad to finally meet you. Lovely place you have here. So… rustic.” He looks around, smile slipping into a dissatisfied grimace. 

“I have been keeping a very close eye on you two. You do make yourselves hard to find. Having Copley around to clean up your messes has certainly helped.” He steeples his fingers together, rings clinking in agreement. “But what can I say. Sometimes it truly pays to keep eyes in certain places. And you are worth  _ every  _ penny.”

Bright blue eyes burn with a violent hunger behind them. Surveying, almost- categorizing. That look is one that he’s seen in many centuries, one he has familiarized himself with. The merchant’s eye.

The man claps, far too loud and jarring against the quiet of the cottage. “But, forgive me. Where are my manners? You may call me Mr. Petersen. I’m something of a collector.” He grins like it’s his business card. “I’m here because- well, what rarer thing to have than people who won't die? Truly amazing, really.”

He holds a hand out. One of the vultures hands him a tactical knife with a wicked, smiling curve to it. 

“Now your  _ friend  _ here has been somewhat, ah. Resistant, shall we say, to sharing some information I need.” Joe watches him stroll closer, smile stretching thinner. “But I’m sure  _ we  _ can make some sort of arrangement, yes? You seem like a reasonable guy. See, I’m hardly a collector without a full set. And your friends are, as I said,  _ very  _ good at hiding.” 

The knife levels at his face, the man-  _ Petersen-  _ only a foot away. He can smell the American’s cloying perfume like a cloud of poison enveloping him. Joe keeps his breathing slow, controlled, despite the way his heart jackrabbits in his ribcage.  _ Not again, not again.  _ He tests the leeway the cuffs give him,  _ perhaps if he broke his thumb... _ tenses when he realizes there’s not enough space.

“I would like to know the location of the others, if you wouldn’t mind. The two women and the man- the sad-looking one. Booker, right?”

Joe presses his mouth in a firm line. “ _ I don’t know what you’re talking about, _ ” he says, switching to Arabic. “ _ I just came here for a vacation with my husband, I-” _

“Do. Not.” Petersen practically shouts at him in English, a thread of hair falling from its perfect blonde coif. “Do not fuck with me. I’ve seen the video, I’ve got an eyewitness confirming that it’s you. So let’s skip the whole playing stupid part, alright?” 

He straightens from where he had begun to tower over Joe, smoothing down the front of his suit and tucking the single hair back in place. When Joe doesn’t respond, he opens his hands in offering. 

“Look. I understand your reservations. But it’s not like I’ll be experimenting on you like that sickly little creep Merrick. You’ll be taken to a facility where you’ll have your own rooms. A whole house if you want, I don’t give a fuck. You’ll be very well taken care of. All I ask is that you be  _ cooperative.” _

Joe shoots a look over at Nicky. His wound has fully closed itself now, blood beginning to dry. Still though, his eyes hang half closed. Breathing irregular. Given recent experience, Joe guesses that they’ve drugged him. It certainly dampens their chances of getting out of here without Peterson’s escort. 

It’s no far stretch of his imagination to picture this man getting to Andy. Of what he might do when he finds that she no longer heals, that her value as a trophy is nothing. Joe’s eyes stay solely on his Nicolo. Even if he found a way out of the cuffs, there was no guarantee he could get them both out, particularly with Nicky being in his present state. And he was not going anywhere without Nicky.  _ He was not.  _

Joe grits his teeth. “ _ I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  _ He repeats in Arabic. “ _ Let us go.” _

Petersen’s bottom lip nearly trembles with rage, but he manages to plaster an illusory press of his lips in acknowledgement to cover it. “Pity. Here I was, hoping this would be a pleasant afternoon.” He checks his watch, frowning. “You see, I simply don’t have the time to argue with you. I’ll let Vera handle that. She can be  _ very  _ persuasive. In the meantime…”

He gestures to one of the soldiers. The vulture nods and exits the cottage while another three all grab Nicky by the arms. They hoist him onto his feet, gripping him at the elbows. He stumbles when they try to make him walk, and attempts to make a noise like words that comes out as a mumbled approximation of Yusuf’s name. One of the soldiers not holding him up whips the butt of his rifle into his stomach as recompense. 

_ That  _ is when whatever calm facade he’d been able to muster falls away completely. Joe surges to his feet, almost instantly held back by a collection of black-clad hands. 

“ _ Nicolo? Nicolo-”  _ The talons grasp, pull- keep him in place. Yusuf switches his gaze to Petersen. He’s sure that if looks could burn, the American would be nothing more than a pile of ash. He switches to English, each word icy. “Where are you taking him?”

Petersen rolls his eyes, still glued to the smartphone he’s pulled out to entertain himself. “Relax. You’ll see him again. It’s not like I can kill him right?” He laughs, like a pin dropping in an empty room. “I’ll be seeing you boys soon.”

He waltzes out, phone coming up to his ear to take a call with the men dragging Nicky close behind him. Joe fights against the soldiers restraining him- manages to dislodge a few with a couple choice elbows thrown in their direction. One of them splutters like he’s caught them in the throat. He manages a few steps forward, the remaining hands and the chain connecting his ankles impeding his progress. Before he can get far, a gun goes off and there’s a searing, familiar pain in one of his calves. Joe’s leg buckles from the impact of the bullet, sending him toppling face-first onto the floor. They let him lie there, just watching, until the metal pushes itself out of his muscle. 

Then the vultures are back to haul him up- claws digging into his skin, yanking at his flesh. Joe’s breath is ragged where it rips from his chest, trying in vain to keep up with the way his heart runs a mile a minute after Nicky. They take him out of the cottage as well, and as they shove him through the splintering wooden doorway he catches the tail end of a luxury car taking off down the road. Not far behind trails an armored truck of some sort- a hulking grey beast set upon the road. Joe can practically feel his stomach dropping out from beneath him. It’s twin sits in the small drive, dwarfing the rental car Nicky had driven them there in. 

He locks eyes with the man to his right, who grips him with an iron more like a machine. He makes a point of letting the barrel of his rifle press against the small of Joe’s back. 

“Are you often in the business of kidnapping?” Joe sneers as the doors to the other van are opened. “Or does he pay you enough not to care?”

The man doesn’t respond, doesn’t even blink. A seething rage burns the back of Yusuf’s throat like bile. In all his many years, he has yet to understand men like that- who could forgo their humanity for a price. Too many men like that had been allowed to wreak their havoc on the world. The hands push him into the car. 

_ Alone.  _

He can hear the dull  _ thunk!  _ of the door locking behind him. There are no windows, nothing attached to the walls he might try to break the chains against. The floor beneath his feet shudders as the van starts, Joe lurching forward and having to lean a thigh against the block-shaped bench along the wall to keep his balance. 

Yusuf’s mind searches for… something. Anything he might grasp on to, some sort of tether to keep him present in his head. But there’s nothing- can’t look to his Nicolo for assurance, can’t spew the  _ many  _ colorful words he has brewing like a storm in his mind at Petersen or his entourage. 

All that he can do is sit and prepare for whatever fate is set before him now. He prays that Petersen had been truthful in his word. The mere thought of Nicky being taken somewhere, hidden away- it’s too much for his mind to handle. He closes his eyes and counts the number of things he can remember about Nicolo’s eyes, and hopes that they are enough to bring them into reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this story, consider leaving a comment/ kudos! It means the world <3
> 
> also if you wanna yell at me for being mean to the boys, my tumblr is pinesboi.tumblr.com !


	3. Chapter 3

Nicky only vaguely remembers going back to the cottage. The many well-armored men hiding behind their tinted visors and their benefactor all pass in a blur of color. He briefly recalls the finely groomed one asking him about Andy and Nile, and responding with something along the lines of “Your suit is wrinkling”. After that, things go hazy.

When he is once again fully aware of his surroundings, he’s on his feet being dragged through concrete hallways that shift and spin beneath him. He tries to look around for Joe, but he can’t seem to control his head, lolling around on his shoulders without instruction. Still, in his limited glimpses, he doesn’t see Joe. 

They lead Nicky into a room- one of the soldiers producing a keycard to unlock the door. It’s a small space, the only things inside of it being a toilet and a blue plastic mat pushed up into the corner. The walls are all mirrored- one-way, he imagines- and definitely do not help the headache he’s fostering from whatever drug they’ve injected him with. They dogpile him as soon as he’s in the door, pinning his arms and legs down to remove his restraints. Along with them they take his jacket and shoes, leaving him barefoot and in his blood stained t-shirt. As they exit, the door nearly disappears into the wall apart from the handle. 

And then he is alone. 

Nicky is still for a long time, waiting for his head to stop spinning. He is thankful for how cool the linoleum floor is and rests his forehead against it. He breathes deep, both to calm himself and to fight back a wave of nausea, and sits up ever so slowly to assess his surroundings. He can spot two cameras on the ceiling almost immediately. It’s very likely that there are more watching him from beyond his mirrored walls. 

From experience, he knows that with enough effort he could probably break through the mirrors- not unscathed, but that was a minor issue. Unless it was heavily fortified on the other side, he could be out before the soldiers who dropped him there had a chance to react. 

_But not without Yusuf._

Nicky sets his jaw, an all-encompassing worry seizing control of his heart. There was no guarantee that he’d be able to find Joe if that man had taken him to another location. He can’t leave without some knowledge of where Joe might be.

So, he decides to do the only thing he knows how to do. Nicky kneels down on the mat, and he waits. 

*************************************************************

They drive for hours. When they finally stop, Joe doesn’t get much of a look outside, apart from a few glinting rays from the sunrise. They pull him out of the van and almost immediately a black cloth is thrown over his head, obscuring his vision.

He shares some choice curses in Arabic as they tug him this way and that, the butt of a rifle coming into contact with his ribs every time he stumbles. Joe, of course, responds with an even more colorful string of explicatives. He’s shoved unceremoniously forward and suddenly the cloth is removed. White fluorescent light far too bright to his slowly-adjusting eyes. 

The men keep their iron grip on him as they take off the cuffs on his wrists and ankles. One bites at him to take off his shoes, too. Then, without another word, they filter back out of the room like ants in a row. 

Joe looks around himself, attempting to get his bearings. He’s in a fairly normal seeming space, almost like a lounge. There’s a long, robins-egg blue couch and a TV inset into the wall on one end, one of the large ones that nearly takes up a third of the wall. There’s a twin bed situated in the opposite corner made up with fluffy white sheets, and a stall-like bathroom. He catches a hint of his reflection in a mirror on the wall across from him. It’s by far the nicest cage he’s ever found himself in. The many cameras on the ceiling don’t evade his notice. 

Out of curiosity, he goes to try the door. It’s a hulking metal thing with a slot for a keycard. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t open. 

Joe puffs a breath out of his nose. He begins to pace, mostly because he can’t find anything else to do. His mind is almost solely focused on Nicky- the image of his body limp and his face bloody as the vultures dragged him away. 

They’d both been taken separately before, of course. Back then, however, they’d both known that the other was coming with the rest of the family in rescue. Then, they hadn’t had to worry about Andy’s immortality. And never before had he been so truly scared he might not see Nicky again. 

Petersen finding them also raised a question- if he’d been able to find out about their immortality, how many others would now? How many would Petersen boast to, so proud of his undying trophies? Joe had the looming suspicion that Merrick had been the start of a very long line of such individuals. Petersen was only his first successor. 

None of the answers to the questions Joe asks himself inspire much confidence. 

And Nicolo- his Nicolo, his stars and moon- was… _somewhere._ Joe curses the fact that their dreams ended when they met. Anything to give him some reassurance, some clue. A familiar ache settles into him. The one that always comes when they’re apart for too long. 

He’s not sure how long he paces like that, engrossed in his own thoughts. If Nicky were there, he’d give him that certain smile, tell him to sit and start rubbing over the back of his hand with his thumb. Instead, Joe feels stretched too thin in every direction.

Eventually he is interrupted by the sound of the door buzzing open. He’s on guard immediately, body tensing. 

Soldiers enter first, a slinking oil spill against the white of the walls. Not as many as before, only three. With them is Petersen, changed into a fresh burgundy suit. Clinging to his elbow is a shorter woman, with overly curled blonde hair and fabulously empty blue eyes. She’s got the same kind of smile on her face as Petersen, wearing it like her pearl necklace and diamond ring. 

They close the door behind them, the vultures training their rifles on him. Petersen grins like he’s greeting an old friend. 

“Good to see you again, Joe.” He says, all plastic charm. “I’m happy you made it through transport unscathed. Not like it matters.” He gestures to the woman. “Let me introduce you, for a moment- this is my wife, Vera. Say hi, Vera.”

The woman wiggles her fingers in hello. “Hi there.” She speaks with a thick southern accent.

“Isn’t she just a doll?” Petersen chuckles. “Anyhow, I wanted to stop by and make sure you got settled in. Nice digs, right? We can, of course, talk about getting you a full suite once you tell me where the others are. Don’t suppose you’re feeling a little more forthcoming this morning?”

Joe stares at him with all the venom he can muster. Fingers curl into a fist at his side, nails making crescent-moon shaped indents in his palms. 

“Where is he?”

Petersen rolls his eyes. “He’s fine. Jesus, codependent much?” Vera titters out a laugh in approval. “You’ll get to see him again as soon as you tell me what I want to know. We could get this all over with now and spare the time and effort I’m going to have to go through to get it out of you.”

He looks pointedly to Joe, clearly waiting for a response that doesn’t come. Joe’s eyes flick to the side. He watches one of the soldiers closely- their grip just just a little too loose on their gun, stance a little too relaxed. He adjusts his feet ever so slightly in preparation. 

The American sighs. “That’s what I thought. Well, I figured we could do the introductions anyhow. See, Vera here happens to be very interested in the art in extraction. She’s going to be spending some time with- Nicolo? Nicky? Whatever-”

Joe launches into action before he can finish speaking. He ducks down low, out of the scope of the other two soldiers and kicks a leg out to target the third. His foot connects with their knee and sends them tumbling forward. The palm of his hand flies to meet with their face, the result being a satisfying crunch as the bone buckles beneath it. He wrenches the gun away from them, using their loose grip to his advantage, and sends a bullet into one of their kneecaps. Before the other soldiers can comprehend the actions of the last few seconds, Joe has an assault rifle trained on Petersen.

The man raises an arm in surrender calmly, the one attached to Vera staying in place. The lifted hand holds a small black remote. 

“Ah-ah-ah. I’d be careful about where you point that thing, if I were you.” He presses a button on the side.

Off to the side, the TV turns on. It takes Joe a moment to fully process what he’s looking at. When he does, he almost drops his gun. 

The image on the screen is of Nicky, in a small mirrored room. He’s kneeling on a blue mat, head bent in prayer. He still has blood on his face. Joe’s heart ricochets in his chest, pounding in his ears. He tears his focus back to Petersen. 

“Where is he.” Joe grinds out, teeth set on edge. 

Petersen shrugs. “Kill me, and I’ll make sure you never find out.”

Joe hesitates. Looks back to the screen- the other soldiers have their aim on him again, clearly waiting for a signal to open fire. The third groans on the ground, holding his leg and bleeding from his nose. In that moment of pause, Petersen raises the remote up to his mouth with a self-satisfied grin plastered to his face. 

“Fire drill on room 73.”

His head whips to the TV and back. “What-?”

On the screen, Nicky is suddenly alert. There’s sound coming through the monitor, a loud whirring that has him on his feet to investigate. Then, in a second, he’s clutching at his throat. Chest heaving with no release. He falls back to the floor, eyes wild. 

Joe feels nearly manic, unable to decide where to focus. “What have you done? What’s happening to him?”

It’s Vera who pipes up, all too cheerful to share. “Oh, well the fire drill is meant to protect merchandise in storage. All the oxygen gets sucked right on out of there to make sure everything stays spiffy. So, if I had to guess, I’d say he’s suffocating.”

He’s attempting to get a hold on his thoughts when Petersen gestures to the soldiers. They unload on him, bullets ripping into the flesh of his legs and abdomen until he’s on his knees. He swears in Arabic, keeps his hold on the gun as tight as possible. A boot kicks him down and crushes his fingers while the other soldier rips it away from him.

“Well.” Petersen snaps, all too casual. “Vera and I oughta be heading out- brunch plans.” He waves his hand as he speaks, the little black remote glinting in the light. “You have fun. I hope you’ll be a little more willing to work when I come back tomorrow.”

With Joe still writhing on the floor, waiting for his body to spit the metal back out, Petersen takes his leave. Vera gives him another finger-waggle as her husband flashes a shiny gold keycard at the door. 

“Have a _super_ day.” She chitters over her shoulder, just as the exit seals behind her.

Breathing heavy through his nose, Joe forces himself up. His legs scream at him for the effort and a bullet plinks to the floor as he scrambles after them. The door’s no use, of course.

He turns back to the TV, eyes wide. Nicky’s gone silent now. Even through the monitor, Joe can tell that his eyes are bloodshot, a trail of scarlet leaking from his ear. He watches with horrified attention, unable to look away. It takes too long for Nicky to come back, but it’s almost worse when he does. His body spasms and heaves for air it doesn’t find. Falls into a fetal position on the mat, the same terrified look all reflecting back at him in the mirrored walls. It only takes about a minute for him to stop moving a second time. Forty-five seconds for him to start clawing at the walls again.

Joe keeps track of every death and resurrection, knelt in front of the TV. The camera feed bears a small timestamp in the bottom corner, ticking away the seconds that Nicky fights for air. It goes on for hours.

Six hours, thirty-five minutes and ten seconds. He watches every death. It’s a promise he makes to Nicky, an oath he swears. Joe will be with him through every single one.

_I’m here. I am here, I promise. I will never leave you._

The longest Nicky takes to come back is two minutes. Joe watches with bated breath, a terror seizing every part of his body and turning his blood to ice. He can’t move, limbs frozen in place, eyes locked to the screen. _Not like this, hayati. Not like this. Please._

When it’s finally over, Joe’s eyes are raw. He’s aware that he’s been crying, distantly, has barely been blinking. But he’d never dare look away.

The air comes rushing back into the room, Nicky croaking in a long breath like it hurts him to do so. The result is a coughing fit that lasts too long, long enough that Joe can spot blood coming up. But Nicky is alive. For a long time he just lays there with his eyes closed, taking deep breaths through his nose and out through his mouth. He’s so still, Joe’s almost certain he’s gone to sleep

Then, Nicky raises his head and kneels up. His eyes glance to the camera, and then begins to pray. 

Joe doesn’t sleep that night, even after Nicky does eventually fall into slumber. He keeps his eye on the monitor, watching his Nicolo breathe with a newfound gratitude.

“ _I’m here._ ” Joe whispers in Genovese. “ _I’m here_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, leave a kudo/comment, it means the world! <33333
> 
> P.s. i promise there is comfort to this h/c fic. we'll get there. 
> 
> my tumblr: pinesboi.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

_Sunlight finds its way through threadbare curtains. Below the open window, the murmur of the market begins to float up to them, accompanied by the smell of rich coffee and cooking food of all sorts. It’s pleasantly cool in their little room, the air gentle against Nicky’s skin. He takes a deep breath. His mouth waters at the idea of breakfast._

_Yusuf is still fast asleep at his side. Nicky had been content to watch him as the first few rays of daylight snuck into the sky, ever the early riser. He’s leaned up against the headboard now, Joe curled into the crook of his arm. Nicolo can’t help the smile that spreads on his face, nor the warm curl of something satiated and sleepy that stirs in his ribcage. His eyes drift between freckles on golden brown skin, up to inky black curls that seem to catch the sun within them._

_In the next room he can hear what he assumes to be the sound of Andy moving through the tiny kitchen to make her morning tea. Before long, they will have to be on the move again. They’d been in Istanbul for a few weeks in between jobs- already too long to be in one place, really. Nicky can’t help but feel a distant longing. It’s one that lives in his bones, the memory that some far-off part of him remembers. To have a home again. To be still, just for a while. When they had the time to visit, Malta could be their constancy- though it seems like they make it there less and less as the time goes on._

_Nicolo brushes a thumb over Joe’s shoulder, ever so lightly. He doesn’t intend to wake him, but it’s almost as though Joe has become conditioned to the movement, the almost-but-not-yet wake up call. He begins the shift under the bedsheets and pokes his cold nose into Nicky’s side. A sleepy groan vibrates in his chest, Nicky’s grin stretching wider at the sound._

_“Tell Andy we can move tomorrow.” Yusuf says grumpily, voice muffled against Nicky’s skin. “I am sleeping.”_

_Nicolo chuckles. “You don’t have to wake just yet, tesoro mio. You can rest a little longer.”_

_He feels Joe smile. “How much longer?”_

_Nicky glances down at Yusuf, catching the electricity in his gaze as he looks up through long black lashes. By all the saints above, he loves this man. A hand rests innocently on his stomach, fingers playing at the skin. Andy could wait._

_“A while.”_

“Knock knock! Sorry to disturb your prayer.”

Nicky’s eyes snap open, drawn out of his memories. His knees ache from kneeling so long, but he doesn’t make a move to stand. Rather, he shifts his gaze forwards and finds the owner of the voice in the section of mirrored wall before him.

He has long since stopped being surprised by appearances, but the woman who enters is unexpected nonetheless. Blonde curls are twisted into a ponytail, delicately manicured hands smoothing over a robin’s-egg apron. There are a few rust colored stains along the embroidered edge. It’s a sinister sight to take in. Nicky tries to pretend he’s not afraid. 

It doesn’t work.

Soldiers filter into the room after her. A few come in carrying metal cases, two others push in a wheeled cart. Another wields a menacing, heavy-weight pair of handcuffs. Once they’re all in, the door clicks shut behind them. The woman flashes a bared smile. 

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of an introduction.” She extends a hand. “I’m Vera.”

Nicky doesn’t move. Just steadily watches her reflection in the wall. 

Vera drops her hand, her smile skewed. “You’re Nicolo, right? That’s what the other one called you.” His head snaps to her of its own accord. “Ah, that’s got you perked up. Don’t you worry, we’re taking good care of him.”

She motions to the soldier with the cuffs. Two others approach him the rest holding their rifles at the ready. “As for you… Well, we’re gonna have a little chat.”

They pull him by the elbows to his feet. He goes willingly, allowing them to pull him about like a rag doll. It’s equal parts exhaustion on his part and biding his time. The handcuffs are locked around his wrists with Vera continuing on, voice just a touch too chipper for the setting. 

“You see, my husband has been looking for the others like yourself. They certainly know how to make themselves scarce.” From one of the apron’s pockets Vera produces a pair of yellow rubber gloves that she pulls carefully on. She looks to the soldier on his right. “Let’s get him up, please.”

Wordlessly he’s brought to stand in the middle of the room. They bring his arms up and hook the chain of the handcuffs over a protruding beam or pipe above him in the ceiling. The cart is brought to her side as one of the soldiers begins to lay out tools from the metal cases. Most of them are surgical-looking, but a few toothed blades and needle-adjacent objects stick out. Vera peruses them for a moment, looking at them all thoughtfully. She decides on a pair of emergency shears and approaches, stopping just a few inches away. Stark blue eyes are blank as they assess him. 

“Look, Nicolo- ugh, I’m just gonna call you Nico.” She lifts the scissors to his shirt and begins to cut. He takes deep breaths. Tries to swallow the heartbeat in his throat.

_Just until he gets word of Joe. Just a little longer._

“I’m gonna level with you here. I can make this get real unpleasant. For your friend, too, if you really want to make things difficult.” 

Nicky can’t bite back the words any more. His blood boils in his veins with a sickening mixture of fear and rage. “He is not my _friend,_ as you say it.”

Vera finishes cutting the material of his shirt off and pulls it away. She presses her mouth into a thin line, the first time he’s seen her give more than that horridly saccharine smile. “Right. You two are...involved.”

“He is my husband.”

She visibly recoils at his use of the word, busying herself by tossing the scraps of cloth to the floor and moving back to the cart to pick something else from the collection of sterling items before her. She pauses for a moment, then looks at him, genuinely curious. 

“I saw you praying,” Vera says incredulously. “Surely, as a man of God, you know that relationships like- like _that_ are unholy. I just don’t understand-”

Nicky cuts her off with bared teeth. “The love I have for my _husband_ is the holiest grace God has granted me. If you are of the belief that He despises me for so gratefully accepting the gift He has given, then I believe we do not worship the same God.”

“Hm.” She picks up a scalpel and rounds back on him, looking between him and it like she’s trying to determine if it’s the right fit. “I’m gonna be honest with you, Nico- since that’s the type of God-honoring woman I am. I don’t much like people like you. And while getting to work on you _was_ a gift from the hubby, I still got a job to do.” The scalpel presses against his skin. He doesn’t close his eyes, doesn’t give her the satisfaction. His mind jumps to Istanbul- tries to focus on the air like breath on his chest rather than the piercing blade. The smell of coffee and the market, Yusuf sleeping peacefully beside him-

Vera moves the metal just a few centimeters above a rib, breaking through the skin like it’s air. “So. Where are the others?”

Nicky’s breathing goes shaky, attempting to move as little as possible with the blade inside him. “Would you so readily betray your own family?”

Her head cocks to the side, perfectly shaped eyebrows knitting as she considers. Nicky can’t help but think she looks remarkably like a hawk. “Yes. I think I would.”

The scalpel sinks down to the hilt in his flesh. 

********************************************

Joe watches the TV with rapt attention. Can’t bear to tear his eyes off of Nicky even for a second. He’s nearly vibrating with anger, fingers digging red crescent moons into his thighs. All he can do is watch that woman tear Nicky apart, piece by piece. It’s all a little too reminiscent of Koszak’s lab, with the difference being that Nicky doesn’t even know that he’s _there._ He hates the way she touches him. The way she strokes over his side as she removes a section of flesh from his ribs, like she had any right to. 

He’s lost. All parts of himself go in all directions, and yet they all gravitate towards the image on the TV. There are no restraints on Joe’s arms, there’s no blade pressed to his throat, and yet there’s _nothing_ he can do to keep the love of his life from his pain. He is useless. The thought alone is enough to drive him mad.

For someone who has dedicated their long-lived existence to trying to right wrongs, to saving people, to making his immortality worth _something,_ it seems like the most unjust hell he could be sent to. Of course, it’s Nicky of all people he has to watch. His Nicky, who takes the pain in stride and gives Vera no satisfaction from her ministrations. What a curse, to have to watch the love of his life be _brave_ while he sits on a couch and watches the whole thing on TV. 

After an hour or so of watching Vera dissect Nicky alive, measured by the camera feed’s clock, he hears the door to his room click open. Petersen waltzes in, a vulture to either side. He’s beginning to wonder just how many are under the American’s employ.

Petersen looks relaxed as he waltzes in. The top button of his dress shirt is unbuttoned casually, one hand in the pocket of his suit- this time completely black. Almost as soon as he enters Joe’s proximity, he can smell something like tobacco and champagne on him.

“Look who it is! Joey boy,” Petersen claps a hand on Joe’s shoulder and sits down next to him, reclining with his hands behind his head. Joe does his best to remain still. “How are you? Enjoying the entertainment?”

Joe has always been a man of words. They flow in his head constantly, a stream of phrases and letters that have always been his interpretation of the world, of the many things that most could not put phrases to. But, presently, he can find no words adequate for the hatred that bubbles up in his gut and burns the inside of his stomach.

“He will not tell you where to find the others. And neither will I.”

“Oh, don’t be like that Joey. Can’t we just talk a bit? You’re the only thing in my collection that can have intelligent conversation. Plus, I get terribly bored when Vera’s working. We could be friends, even.”

He waits for a reply from Joe that doesn’t come.

Petersen shrugs, absentmindedly twisting a sapphire ring on his index finger. “He’ll talk. Vera’s got a way with men, let me tell you. Besides, you want to see him again, don’t you?”

He can _hear_ the skin pull back over the American’s teen in a smile. It takes every ounce of self-control he has to keep from strangling him right then and there, keenly aware of the rifles trained on him. “I could fix this all in a heartbeat. You tell me where to find the others and _click.”_ He pulls the little black remote from his breast pocket, the sight of it making Joe’s pulse jump.

“What do you want with us?” Joe asks, keeping his eyes on the TV. “Do you just intend to keep us as pets until you die? We will outlive you.”

“No, no, see-” Petersen shakes his head. “I like special things. Unique things. And you? And him? And all the rest? There’s nothing like you. So, I keep you here. So that I’m the only one that gets to see you. The crown jewel of my collection. Isn’t that a thing? You’re _exclusive_.”

“How many others have you kept like this?”

“Just you. Though it’s a big facility, so there's plenty of space-” Petersen’s eyes widen ever so slightly as he finishes the sentence. Like he’s let something slip. He turns his attention to the TV.

 _Facility_? Joe’s mind begins to work quietly.

He picks his words carefully. “So… If I told you where to find the others,” He subtly tries to angle his body closer to Petersen. “You could show me Nicky? In person?”

The American nods, a light going off in his head like he’s finally managed to break Joe. “Absolutely. Just tell me where, and I’ll make sure you two are back together in no time at all.”

Joe weighs his options. The opportunity before him is potentially risky. The way the soldiers watch him is relentless, and he hasn’t forgotten his previously failed attempt to escape. He also hasn’t forgotten what that remote triggered last time. The image of Nicky, eyes bloodshot and ears bleeding, clawing at his throat for air is burned into the back of his eyelids. Doesn’t know if he can risk hurting Nicky, not after all he’s already been through. He looks to the TV, hoping for some sort of guidance.

Vera has his chest completely splayed open now, fingers wandering inside amongst the sinew. Nicky is in a cycle of dying rapidly, reviving, and passing out from the pain. Each time his body begins to heal itself, Vera moves her yellow rubber-clad hands to undo its work. Joe’s heart aches like it’s his that she’s got her fist around. She does something, makes some move he can’t see from the camera angle, and for the first time Nicky truly screams in pain.

He wants to curl up on himself. He wants to cover his ears, or cry, or scream in response. Every emotion comes over him in waves that threaten to drown him, intensified by lack of sleep and the sheer smell of Petersen beside him. It’s all so much, he almost doesn’t notice. Almost.

But the scream was loud. It had come through the TV monitor, but Joe could have sworn it came from somewhere else, somewhere close. Off to the side, maybe. His mind runs a mile a minute, eyes widening. Vera moves her hand inside Nicky’s chest to elicit another scream, and there it is again. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror to his left.

_No-_

His mind revisits the remote. Suddenly things begin to fall into place, and his chances seem quite a bit more in his favor. Because if he was right, if what he was hearing was real…

“-the house would be made to fit for you all, of course. Everything state-of-the-art. Absolutely beautiful, trust me.” Petersen has been giving his business pitch, Joe only just beginning to register his presence again. He’s waving the remote around in the air, using it to punctuate his points. Joe almost wants to smile.

It takes little more than a quick shot to Petersen’s throat to get him to drop the remote, choking on air. A swing of his leg that brings Joe’s body parallel to the cushions and his foot connecting with the American’s temple drops him over the edge of the couch, barely conscious. The soldiers open fire, but he’s already grabbed the remote and ducked down behind the armrest, providing a bit of cover. He looks at the buttons presented to him- only four, color-coded. It’s a twenty-five percent chance. A spare look at Nicky on the TV is enough to make his fingers itch.

“I am sorry for what I do, love.” Joe murmurs. “Here’s hoping.” He hits the blue button, on instinct. 

Time stops- or slows, he can’t quite tell. With a _click_ and a quiet whirring, he looks up to where he should be seeing his reflection. Where there was a mirror seconds before is no longer a mirror, but a window. Through it, he can see two rows of rooms much like his and Nicky’s. Some appear to be stuffed full of plants from all different climates. A couple others have animals- he thinks he can spot the tail of something large just a few rooms away. 

None of those are what draws his attention though. No, the room that really draws his eye is the one directly across from him, the door and front wall of which couldn’t be more than six feet from where he crouches. The occupants all freeze, and based on the way they stare, he can tell they’re looking back. 

But that’s still not what glues him to his spot. What makes him want to collapse, knees on the verge of buckling. What makes his heart stop beating for a moment and revives him all the same, what makes Joe _Yusuf_ again.

What stops him in his tracks are two blue-green eyes like the Atlantic that lock to his gaze.

_Nicolo._

Time comes surging back to him, and the soldiers open fire. The window shatters. For the first time in what seems like a century, Joe feels a strength flow into him. He keeps his eyes on his Nicolo. 

The world flies into motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading! your comments have all been so nice, and i hope this chapter was a bit of a catharsis for y'all :) from how it's looking right now there will be two more chapters. We are coming up on the end!
> 
> my tumblr: pinesboi.tumblr.com  
> Remember to leave a kudos/comment if you enjoyed! See you all next week x


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! Sorry for the late update but!! this next chapter got extra long, so it'll be split into two. meaning y'all will get a double post! next chapter will be out tomorrow <3

There is very little for what seems like a long, long time. The space between living and death is not an unfamiliar one to him, but he has never found himself able to fully grow accustomed to the sensation. Nicky is unaware of his breathing-  _ if  _ he’s breathing, if he makes any noise. Catches the barest glimpse of himself in the mirror behind Vera, looking far more like an anatomical model than a living being.

And then, there is light. A new light, coming in from all directions. Vera’s fingers hover over the flesh on his ribcage and cease their movements long enough for some of his skin to begin to reattach itself. His mind begins to clear, just enough for him to understand the shift in setting.

Nicky thinks, perhaps, he has truly died this time. There are no mirrors. Just light from beyond his room and a face like something heaven-sent. Yusuf, eyes wide and glittering as if it were their charge. He is close. Close enough that he can feel that buzzing layer that hangs around his body, nearly vibrating with the need to draw him closer. Around Joe are a thousand stars shattering and refracting in a halo. A holy messenger sent to guide him; in the shape of the only face he would want to welcome him into his eternity.

But, no, Nicky is very much alive. The ache of one of his ribs popping back into place reassures him of that. They weren’t stars, the fragments that fly through the air, but slivers of broken glass shattered by the bullets fired at Yusuf. The mirrors of his cell have gone clear, showing him rows and rows of rooms like his own. Joe is only across the hall and staring at him like Nicky’s is the first face he’s ever seen. 

It does not take thought for Nicolo to know what to do next. It is a process by which he reverts to his natural state. There is no being without his heart. It is a task of returning to the whole when the part of his soul that lives outside of himself has been wrenched away. Nicky returns to Joe, as he always has, and he always will.

His legs swing out underneath him. They make contact with the center of Vera’s chest and hit her with enough force to sprawl her out on the floor. He uses the momentum he gains and the soldier’s distraction to launch himself forward off of the metal pipe. Nicky can feel his body burning in agony, strands of sinew along his flank still pulling themselves together. He ignores it as best he can. He can rest when he has Yusuf to look over the skin again, brow in that furrowed concern he always gets.

Nicky sends an elbow flying into the face of the nearest soldier. The helmet is sent careening off of his head and into the wall. He knees up into the man’s abdomen with a hand on the barrel of his gun, wrenching it away the second they double over. A quick shot leaves the soldier still on the ground and blood pooling stark on the white floor.

The force with which he fights does not inspire any anger, or wrath, or fury- he’s much too tired for anything like that. It is perfunctory and exact, the way he shoots down the others who had finally ripped their attention away from Joe. Perhaps cold, from an outside view. But he is concerned with ending the fight, not savoring it.

One of the remaining two soldiers rounds on him, sending a shot into Nicky’s shoulder. Compared to the pain of having his chest flayed open or asphyxiating for hours on end, it’s nothing. He shatters their visor with a bullet of his own. The last soldier standing tries to rush at him from the side, aiming to bowl him over. Nicky preps for it, leaning his shoulder in so that when they collide, he can grab a leg and upend them. With some sense of finality, he shoots them in the throat.

Across the hall, Joe has found a gun of his own, no sign of the soldiers that bracketed him a moment previous. He vaults himself through the shattered remains of a window. His feet are bare, and Nicky can see where glass draws blood, but Yusuf doesn’t pay it any mind. He takes the butt of his rifle and slams it against a crack in one of the walls of Nicky’s cell, likely created by a stray bullet. It all falls around him like a meteor shower.

In seconds, Joe has closed the distance between them. His arms wrap entirely around Nicolo’s body, and he can’t help but collapse into the embrace.  _ He is home. He is where he should be.  _ It’s repeated like a Hail Mary, like a thanks unto God and a wish and a meditation.

Yusuf is spilling words, fingers carding in his hair with halting movements like he’s not sure what to do with them. “Nicolo, my love, my heart. I was here. I was here the whole time.” He says it distraught. Nicky wants to put his lips against his throat to soothe the tension from his lover’s voice. “I  _ watched- _ I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t know where you were-“

Nicky silences him by butting their foreheads together, bringing a hand up to trace over Joe’s face. “It is alright,  _ hayati.  _ I am alive. We’re here.”

“Well. Ain’t that touching.”

His head turns to see Vera. Her hair is in wild disarray around her head, and she holds steady to a scavenged pistol. Blue eyes are frantic, trying their best to watch both of them at once.

“Do you think you can just tear all this apart like that?” She says, almost cartoonish with disbelief. “We  _ built  _ this life from the ground up. I won’t let it all come tumbling down just because a couple of-“

Joe takes a step forward, jaw set, intent on a path of destruction. Nicky shakes his head.

“Let me.”

He approaches Vera slowly. Takes note of the way her feet shift, unsure. She knows that she won’t win this battle. Nicky can sense the defeat in her, by way of her eyes glancing to the large section of wall that now leads out to the hallway, scanning for a quick escape. Based on the glass he hears crunching behind him, Joe eliminates that option for her.

She swallows, a half smile coming up to cover it. “Come on now, Nico,” She says, keeping the gun leveled at him. He takes a step closer. Another. “Didn’t we have some fun? Surely you can’t blame me for what my- my  _ husband…” _

She trails off as Nicky finally gets so close that the barrel is fully pressed against the raw, pink skin of his freshly healed chest. Nicolo doesn’t allow his face to betray anything. She squeezes down on the trigger emptying four, five shots into him before it clicks to indicate that the magazine is empty. It hurts like hell, and Joe comes surging forward to retaliate. It knocks him down briefly, falling to his knees until the metal pushes itself back out of his body. Nicky stands. He takes a moment to stare at her, the two of them settling into silence.

“Nicolo?” She chuckles fearfully.

He closes his eyes. “Sit Domino Jesu Christi custódiat te et perdúcat te ad vitam aeternam. Amen.”

The bullet goes right between those empty blue eyes. Vera falls back with a dull thud. Her blonde curls turn auburn in the blood that begins to collect around her. Nicky sighs, feels like the remainder of his energy leaves with his breath. Joe is back at his side in a second, an arm coming out to hold him steady. Nicky holds on for dear life, almost certain that if he were to let go he’d fall entirely. Joe stares disdainfully down at Vera.

“She deserved worse.” He doesn’t say it with much malice. Merely stated as fact.

Nicky shrugs. “I know.” He looks Yusuf in the eyes, completely content to down in the warm darkness he finds there. “I have no more stomach for torture today.”

Joe nods. He searches a few bodies until he produces a set of keys to unlock Nicky’s handcuffs, which are discarded. Then they are still, for what seems like it could be anywhere from a thousand years to only a second. Nicky takes a moment to ground himself, willing the numbness in his limbs to dissipate. He revels in the sensation of Joe’s skin against his.

All along the hallway outside, red lights begin to flash. A screeching alarm rings out along the corridor. Joe glances back over his shoulder at the room he came from. He swears under his breath in Arabic. “Petersen. He got away.”

Nicky searches his memory, recalling a vague image of the flashy American back in the cottage and connects the dots himself. He begins to search the soldier’s corpses for ammo and procures new weapons for the both of them. “Then let’s go.”

A hand stops him, the touch powder-light on his arm. Joe’s eyebrows are knit in worry, eyes scanning over Nicky’s body. They both know, logically, that the wounds have healed. But he understands. Even after nearly a thousand years, they’ve never stopped checking. Not when they know how soon it could all end, just in the blink of an eye. He holds Joe’s face gently, smiling at him reassuringly.

“I am fine,  _ hayati.  _ We need to go.”

His furrowed brow doesn’t relax, but Yusuf nonetheless presses a soft kiss to Nicky’s palm and begins to lead the way down the hall. 

The facility they find themselves in is a maze, truly. Rows upon rows of little rooms, all with their own occupants (living and not). Nicky spies a few sculptures along the route that he had been certain were destroyed a couple centuries ago but now seemed to be in perfect condition and tucked out of sight. Joe gives those rooms a dissatisfied glare. He had many times voiced his opinion on the privatization of art. There’s no time to check every cubicle of its contents, but he’s certain that if they did, they would find a number of things that had no right being hidden away in some basement. Nicky makes a promise to come back, at some point- or have Copley send some people in- and relocate the pieces to better homes.

They round a corner. Nicolo manages to pick up another sound beneath the alarm. He has to cross-check himself with Joe to ensure he’s not imagining it, exchanging a look and a hasty nod. It is a sound that is suspiciously close to gunfire. Now that he was thinking about it, they hadn’t seen a glimpse of a single soldier or security guard since they’d cleared out his cell. Which wouldn’t make sense, given the countless number of priceless artifacts stored there.

Unless the alarm wasn’t for them.

Both he and Yusuf come to the same conclusion in a matter of seconds, it seems, because Joe begins to move in towards the sound. Nicky keeps close, watching out behind them.

It is after climbing a flight of concrete stairs that they finally come upon the firefight. The lighting is low, and they find themselves in a loading bay of sorts. An entire fleet of vehicles is parked, even spaces between, of all shapes and sizes. The shots crack in the space like lighting, loud enough to remind Nicky of a migraine that was coming on. Behind an armored van, clearly parked hastily at an angle to grant cover, is a collection of soldiers. Already they are surrounded by a few corpses. It takes him a moment to realize who it is they’re shooting at. It becomes clear when he spots the gleam of a familiar labrys, already dripping crimson.

He feels his mouth split into a smile despite himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translation for what Nicky says to Vera:  
> "May the Lord Jesus Christ protect you and lead you to eternal life."
> 
> Ty so much for all the support on this fic, it's been so so wonderful. If you like the story, please consider leaving a like/comment! As always, i'm also over at my tumblr pinesboi.tumblr.com 
> 
> Next update will be out tomorrow! See you then!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised, here is the second upload for the weekend!

There is no question why Andromache was ever worshipped as a god. Now, as a mortal, she fights with a ferocity that terrifies him- and Nicky isn’t the one on the receiving end of her blade. The labrys is buried in the juncture between one man’s neck and shoulder. A scream is ripped from him as she pulls it back. Andy’s teeth are bared like something wild. 

Not far behind her is Nile, finishing off the soldiers Andy leaves behind with shots sent in quick succession. She’s already far more at ease in a firefight, letting her body move with the bullets that connect rather than trying to fight against them. Nicolo can’t help but feel a strange sense of pride at the sight. There’s a third figure as well. A face he was not expecting to see again so soon- or wanting to, if he was honest with himself. Still, given the circumstances, he finds himself relieved to spot Booker among the fray.

Sebastien is the first to notice their entrance, shooting them both his signature half-nod of greeting. He sweeps a leg low to trip up the soldier in front of him. The butt of his rifle comes up and shatters their nose.

Nicolo di Genova had been a man without any kin, a long time ago. His parents died when he was still a boy and left him with no siblings. He’d been sent to live with the priests, and then off to war. Now he glances around the battle before him. To his sisters, his brother- then to his husband. The man who had captured his soul and all the light in the solar system. This was his family. He hadn’t forgotten, per se. But it was definitely a comforting reminder.

Yusuf shared a look with him, just holding his gaze. The words they exchange are silent, shared in a matter of seconds.

_ Are you ready? _

_ Always. _

They jump into the fray with a fervor neither have known for decades. The satisfaction of being surrounded by the ones he loves. The relief of being able to fight like that- to have gone through everything he has and still be able to stand steady at his family’s side. As a group they move as pieces of a whole. Even as young as she is, Nile weaves in between them like she’s been doing it for centuries. A swinging attack from Andy followed immediately after by a shot from Booker. Nicky stands just in front of Andromache, taking the bullets otherwise destined for her. Joe is swift in his retribution for each connection with Nicky’s body.

It all seems like seconds later that they stand alone, breathing heavily. They are surrounded on all sides by corpses. Andy wipes her labrys on the shirt of one of the dead soldiers. The quiet that always follows a firefight falls upon them. The blood pulsing in his ears is deafening.

After a moment to collect themselves, Joe is the first to speak.

“Andy,” He exhales, like saying her name alone removes a mountain from his shoulders. “It’s good to see you, boss.”

She crosses to him, nearly breaking into a run to close the distance. She wraps him in a hug, voice thick with emotion when she speaks. “Scared us half to death when you didn’t check in.” She chuckles, but Nicky can see the lines of worry on her face that betray her. “Nile suggested we go after anyone who might’ve had eyes in the Merrick labs. Fuck, I thought I’d lost you both.”

Andy pulls away with a shadow of residual fear in her eyes. Nicky puts an arm around her shoulder and draws her into an embrace of his own, “We are alright, Andy. We are glad you came when you did.” 

He shoots a look over at Booker. He’s staring down at his boots, busying himself with checking this gun. Avoiding looking at Nicky or Joe as much as he can. It’s only been a month since his betrayal. The sight of him still sends a bitter pang through his heart.

Nile seems to take notice of this. “We needed help getting you two back. Especially with Andy being… you know.”

“Killable,” Andromache finishes.

Nicolo maintains his gaze until Booker looks up. “Thank you, Sebastien.”

The grip on his rifle adjusts. Booker exhales shakily and his mouth tightens into a line. He doesn’t do much more than nod once and clear his throat.

Joe is the one to break up the tension. “The guy that took us is still here. I’ve no idea where.”

Nile motions up the stairs. “We spotted a penthouse at the top on the way in,” She begins to collect magazines from the tactical pouches of fallen soldiers. “My bed would be there.”

“Why do they always go  _ up?”  _ Andy groans, rolling her neck. She glances around at the carnage before them. “Don’t suppose you saw an elevator on your way over?”

***************************

The way up to the top of the building is less complicated when they get above ground. The natural light filtering in is almost too much for Nicolo’s eyes. He makes the realization, as he passes a section of wall entirely comprised of floor to ceiling windows, that he can’t count how many days it’s been since he’s seen the sun. Too much time spent dying or dead to calculate the flow of time. The cottage seems a year away now.

The building, while modern and lavish in its architecture, is mostly empty. They pass by rooms and halls with nothing in them besides the air that raises goosebumps on Nicky’s back. It seems that whatever Vera and Petersen had collected mostly went into their underground storage. Or, as Nile calls them after Yusuf takes a moment to describe the labyrinth under the facility, the “Tupperware Cages”. Nicky can tell that she’s referencing something, but he’s not sure what. It seems to make her smile, though, so he decides not to ask.

The few groups of soldiers they come across are dispatched quickly. They become fewer and farther between as they ascend. It comes as a relief to know their numbers are thinning. He knows, logically, they had to run out of reinforcements eventually, but the sheer number they had fought their way through thus far had seemed almost endless.

The entrance to the penthouse sits at the top of a set of grand metal stairs. They’re cold beneath his bare feet- of which Nicky is only just beginning to be aware of again. Andy takes point in their formation- as she always had a thousand times previous, as she would continue to until the end. Joe claims the space to her left, ready to throw himself between Andy and the first sign of trouble. Nicolo keeps to the back, watching behind the group with keen eyes.

The steel door is locked, which comes as no surprise. Booker had apparently been anticipating such a situation. He removes a few charges from the bag slung over his shoulder, assessing for a moment as he searches for the proper placement around the heavy frame. He glances back at Andy when he’s done, lifting the small detonator. She nods, and he makes his way back next to Nicky to depress the trigger.

The door is blown open completely, one of the hinges still desperately hanging on and groaning with the weight. They move in quickly, all on guard.

Inside, the man that Nicky remembers from the cottage whom he assumes is Petersen is alone. The penthouse is furnished far more like an approximation of the home of someone fabulously wealthy rather then an inhabitable space. The man himself is stooped over a laptop on the marble kitchen countertop. His blonde hair- betraying strands of grey- is out of place, his suit wrinkled and sweat stained under the arms. He whirls around to face them as they enter, blanching at the sight. His arms go up in surrender.

Andy gestures toward him. “Nile, computer.”

The younger woman motions her acknowledgement and indicates with the barrel of her gun for Petersen to step away, waiting until he complies to give the screen a closer look.

The American clears his throat for attention. “Wait one moment-“

Yusuf is quick to cut him off with a glare that could freeze oceans. “No. You don’t get to speak.” Without taking his eyes away from Petersen, he addresses Nile. “Anything interesting?”

“Can’t tell,” She says, typing in a few commands. “There are a bunch of files, but they’ve all got number codes for names. I can look through, but it’ll take time.”

Petersen rolls his eyes. “If you would  _ listen  _ to me-“ He stops cold, Nicky’s gun becoming very clearly trained at his head. Andy twists the labrys in her grip. He begins again slowly. “If you look at that computer- or any device in the building- you won’t find a single thing about yourselves. Not even a crumb.”

Andy cocks her head, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

“I was hoping it would inspire a certain level of… restraint. On your part.” He smiles, but it seems like it might crack. “I swear you’ll have no more trouble from me. I will forget you exist.”

She scoffs at him, clearly holding nothing but contempt for the man who had taken her brothers from her. The sound sends him cowering, and Nicky notices the man’s hands begin to quake. She preps her labrys for a swing that has its course set for Petersen’s neck, but Joe brings an arm out to stop her.

“Boss.”

She looks to Yusuf. Beneath the wild fury that possesses her crosses something soft and familiar. Andy moves away to give him space. Petersen seems almost more afraid of Joe when he approaches. Something about this is greatly satisfying to Nicky.

“You have stolen my husband and myself away from our lives,” Joe starts. “You were intending on keeping us as  _ things  _ to look at through a cage and wanted to force the rest of my family into the same fate. You made me watch the love of my life die over and over. What, in your short and unremarkable life, has given you the confidence to think you deserve even a shred of mercy?’

The American looks genuinely taken aback, eyes wide. The panic sets in on his face. “But… Look, I’m sorry. I’m sure- can’t we figure something out? Do you want money? Or something from the gallery? How do I make this up to you?

Joe sighs. Lets out something that’s more of a breath than a chuckle. It hangs bitterly in the air between them. “I want to go home.”

Without a second thought, Joe squeezes the trigger. Petersen’s body crumples in on itself, falling to the floor.

Nicky wastes no time, a hand coming up to Joe’s back to ground him. He’s noticed how Joe’s hands have begun to shake, how his eyes are sunken in and red-rimmed. They will be alright. He knows this. But the world seems heavier today. Nicolo just does his best to make sure he and Yusuf don’t collapse under the weight of it.

“Take the computer, see what we can get from it. Copley will send in a team to clean up the rest of this mess.” Andy’s eyes rest softly on Nicky. They share something small, just a second of reassurance. “Let’s get you two out of here.”

Nicky wishes he could feel some sort of relief at leaving Petersen and Vera and the whole ordeal behind. But the way Joe clings to him, the way they rely upon each other and, on occasion, Nile to keep from tipping over in exhaustion worries him. The others too, though they don’t do anything to voice it other than keeping well within distance to give them a hand if they stumble.

He takes a breath when they all pile into a van parked in the loading bay. It seems like his first in a long time. Joe is the first in the back, leaned up against a window. Nicky pushes his body so they’re as close as possible. Yusuf looks over at him, and it breaks his heart to see the sorrow built up behind his eyes. Nicky presses a soft kiss to his shoulder. They don’t speak. Neither of them has words that would be adequate. Before long, they’ve both fallen asleep against each other, surrounded by their family and a warm sense of safety that overtakes them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well folks, we are coming up on the end here. the next chapter will be the long awaited comfort for this h/c fic :') you all have been so so kind in your comments on this fic, and im so excited to publish the last chapter!! 
> 
> As always, i'm at my tumblr pinesboi.tumblr.com !!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone!! sorry about the late upload, but!!! this chapter got really long, so.... now it's two! and you get them both today!!!!  
> also quick warning- the next chapter earns the rating for more than whump. so. be wary!

It’s odd, when Joe finds that he is the first to stir. Normally it’s Nicky rising first, with a subtle smile to greet Yusuf when he joins him in the land of the waking. Still, he’s thankful that Nicolo seems able to get some rest. The few hours Yusuf manages to capture are plagued with the same repeating images, over and over. Nicky being pulled out of his grasp, screaming. A festering army of black-clad hands. A vulture picking apart entrails. After he finds himself woken by the nightmares twice, a cold sweat dripping down his back, he opted to stay awake. He watches the scenery pass by beyond the window. It mostly all blurs together, his mind wandering. Andy’s driving, and every now and then he catches a concerned flicker of her eyes thrown back to the two of them in the rearview mirror. She doesn’t speak. None of them do. He can’t help but feel thankful for it. He’s not sure what he would even say without it all coming out as a mess of incoherent thoughts.

They drive until the sun begins to rise again, an orange glow blanketing the horizon. The only one to disturb the both of them is Nile, who hands back a blanket and a t-shirt. Nicky had been shuddering in his sleep and the rest of the family had taken notice. Yusuf can’t quite gauge whether it was from the air conditioning raising goosebumps over his bare shoulders or nightmares. He decides to wake him anyway, just enough to help him pull the shirt over his head and get his arms through the sleeves. Nicky is entirely unresponsive to the quiet, murmured directions Joe gives him and is back asleep as soon as they are settled again and the blanket is thrown over the both of them.

Eventually Nicky begins to warm up, though he still seeks out more of Yusuf in his sleep, fingers twisting in the material of his shirt. Something deep rooted and aching twists Joe’s chest. It tears up something through his core that tightens the knot in his throat, squeezes the breath out of him. Does his best to choke it down- shuts his eyes and places a soft kiss to the crown of Nicky’s head. Darts of something sharp prick behind his eyes and threaten to spill over.

There will be time for that later. In the meantime, Joe would prefer to put as much distance between them and Petersen’s building as possible.

When the van finally comes to a stop, it’s at a hotel in Geneva. They idle in the parking garage while the others begin to change out of their tactical gear. Joe casts an inquisitive eyebrow Andy’s way. It’s a much nicer place than any of them have stayed in for a long time. She merely shrugs in response.

“Copley said he trusts this place. The staff know to turn a blind eye. Still, you should probably get out of that shirt. Can’t have you walking in covered in bloodstains and bullet holes.” Andy tosses a bag that had been on the floor between her and Nile back to him. His eyes widen as he recognizes it. “We stopped by the place outside of Valencia to grab your stuff. Hope you weren’t planning to spend that whole vacation naked.”

It’s her attempt at humor, trying to put him at ease. He gives her a smile for the effort and dislodges Nicky from his side carefully so he can shed the tattered remains of his other shirt and pull out a sweater from the bag. Joe is almost certain it’s one of Nicky’s, but individual ownership has meant less and less as the centuries have passed. Nicolo lets out an affronted noise at the movement that makes Joe’s heart swell. Nile chuckles affectionately from the front seat, using a wipe to get some dried blood off of her face.

“Nicolo, my love,” Joe whispers quietly, hand brushing over his shoulder. “Time to get up. Lets get you in a real bed.”

Nicky blinks awake slowly, a sleep haze covering his eyes. His tiredness is understandable. Their healing was not without a price. Dying was ordeal enough for those it only came once for- to die again and again took a toll on the mind that left them feeling slow and lethargic. They’ve mostly learned how to work through it, but too many deaths can still take time to recover from. Nicky’s eyebrows furrow together as he glances around.

“Where-“

“Geneva. Hotel.”

He nods. Collects himself for a moment, though seems to lose parts somewhere out the window. The others make their way out of the van once they’ve gathered their own luggage. Andy indicates to Joe that she has Nicky’s, leaving it outside with the rest as they wait up for the two of them. Once they’re alone Joe drops his voice into their mismatched language of Genovese-Arabic.

“ _ Are you okay, habibi?”  _ Nicky smiles halfway in response, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He takes Yusuf’s hand in his and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“ _ I am alright. I will be _ .”

*************************************************

The rooms that they are directed towards, and will be staying in for the foreseeable future, are well furnished without being too horribly reminiscent of Petersen’s penthouse. Joe had a distaste for what was the “modern” style now, and with recent events, was beginning to develop a genuine hatred for it. There are a few paintings on the light cream walls, all of them serene landscapes. He finds himself sighing with relief when he sees that they won’t all be in sharing a single room. Copley booked them a suite- two rooms connected by a general living space. Joe loves his family- and he most certainly doesn’t want to be left without them right now- but he knows that Nicky needs space. If he was being honest, he needed the space too.

Nicky only hesitates for a split second in the living area, just long enough for Andy to clap an arm around his shoulder and to exchange a brief glance with Booker (the meaning of which Joe can’t even begin to decipher). Then he’s off like a bolt to the other room. It draws a glance from the rest of them. Joe watches him go, lingering and staring at the door when it closes. Nile comes up to his side and affectionately bumps her elbow against his.

She gestures after him. “Is he okay?”

“I think so,” He says, though he’s unsure if he believes it. He presses his lips into a line. “Those people did a number on him.” Tries to keep his voice light, but she sees right through it.

She finds his gaze and holds it intently. It’s astounding, the way her eyes seem so young and so ancient at the same time. “Are  _ you  _ okay?”

“They never hurt me. Just a few bullet wounds.”

Nile gives him a look. “That’s not what I asked.”

He chuckles and focuses on his feet., trying to avoid the burning behind his eyes. “I should be with him.” Joe gestures toward the door. She catches his arm.

“You’re immortal. Not unbreakable.”

There is a levity to her words that hits him like a boulder, can’t help but picture Sisyphus as he tries to take his next breath. His mouth goes slack, agape in wonder and places a soft kiss to her forehead.

“It hurts to think about what made you so wise.” Nile only rolls her eyes and rubs a soothing circle into his shoulder.

“Wise enough for the both of us, apparently,” She says. “Promise me you’ll talk about it when you’re ready. Doesn’t need to be me. Just someone.”

“I promise.”

Satisfied, she releases his arm. “Good. I’m holding you to that, al-Kaysani.”

He chuckles and makes his way to the door. “Wouldn’t doubt it for a moment,  _ Freeman.” _ He sends the word over his shoulder, after she gives him a small wave that he returns.

In their room, Nicky has already burrowed himself into the pillows on the bed, still fully dressed. Joe draws the curtains closed, blocking out the morning rays that illuminate his face. He’s rewarded with Nicky’s crinkled nose and eyebrows relaxing in the sudden darkness.

Joe can feel exhaustion tugging at his limbs, reminding him of how weary his legs seem. It only takes a brief, flashing memory of his earlier nightmares to convince him to stay awake, unwilling to face them again so soon. Instead, he sits up on the bed next to his Nicolo and pulls a sketchbook from the bag he throws to the ground. It’s not the one he’d used when they’d gone to the beach- he strongly suspected that it had either been picked up by Petersen’s vultures or was swept off to the side of the road. He had long since learned to pack more than one.

He flips through the first few pages as Nicky sleeps, evaluating the contents. There are a few profiles of Nile. Unlike the rest of the family, he hasn’t had years to perfect sketching her face, and had been spending as much time he could in trying to practice. The rest of the notebook is populated by the usual: close-ups of Nicky’s hands, nose, eyes; buildings he thought were striking and had enough time to sit down and get the bones of.

Joe’s pencil hovers over the page. He thinks about sketching Nicky, asleep and seemingly peaceful. It’s an uncommon enough sight, with how early he normally wakes, that it’s usually more than enough inspiration to get him started. But this time, it doesn’t come. The graphite touches the paper a number of times to start, but never makes more than a dot. Joe lets out a frustrated exhale through his nose. Wipes a hand over his face.

There’s only one thing his mind is able to focus on. As much as he tries to push it away, as much as he sets his jaw and fixes his eyes on the wall and pictures every good memory he can think of- it always returns. Twenty minutes later, and with the stinging taste of resignation in his mouth, he puts his pencil down and begins to sketch.

Time passes strangely after that. It’s not hard for him to spend hours drawing, only lifting his head when Nicky or someone else from the family tap him out of his fugue state. When his eyes come back into focus—drawn into reality by a knock on the door—he’s filled both pages before him with hands clad in tactical gloves. He stares at them with a bile rising in the back of his throat.

“Come in.” Joe says, without looking up.

The door cracks and Andy appears in the space it creates. She cocks a hip against the frame. “Hey. We got food. You should both eat something.”

He tilts his head in acknowledgement. “Alright. We’ll be out in a minute.”

She nods, though her eyebrows scrunch together, and she stays in the doorway a second longer than she needs. When the door closes again, he tosses the notebook to the side and brushes a hand over Nicky’s shoulder. Fingers skate across his back and up into the curling ends at the base of his neck.

_ “Destati, amore mio.  _ Come back to me.”

It takes a while, but Nicolo’s eyes slowly open. He blinks a few times and looks up at him through soft lashes.

“How long did I sleep?” He asks, voice rasping and thick.

Yusuf glances to the clock on the bedside table, surprising even himself at the numbers that glare back in stark scarlet. “Just about noon.”

He gets a groan in response. “Still doesn’t feel like long enough.”

“I know, my heart. I know.” Joe soothes. “You can always go back to sleep later. For now, you need to eat. I know they didn’t give you any food.”

Nicky rises carefully and looks him over, likely taking in the eyebags that have begun to display themselves beneath his eyes. “Did you rest, Yusuf?” He rakes a hand through his curls, grimacing when he comes to the section that’s matted with dried blood. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine.” Joe is a bad liar. “I am not the one they cut open, remember?”

It looks like Nicky starts to say something in response, but Joe beats him to it by rolling out of bed and holding out a hand. “Come on. Before the others eat it all.”

The smile he gets is reverent, Joe wants to keep hold of it forever, even though concern follows through the lines of his face. He accepts Yusuf’s hand and pulls himself up, letting the motion carry him all the way to Joe’s chest. Arms come around his middle, nose squished into the juncture of Joe’s neck and shoulder. Nicky doesn’t say anything. Just stays like that, for a while. Joe holds onto him tightly. He has long since memorized Nicky’s touch, but nothing can compare to feeling it. A shudder passes through him like a lightning strike when his mind wanders to the idea of only having memory to experience it.

Blessedly, Nicky does not mention it, though when he pulls back he gives Joe a look that tells him they  _ will  _ be talking about it. Not now, Joe has made it clear enough that he’s not ready just yet, that the words fully formed themselves in his mind. But they will. In the meantime, Nicky is the one to lead the charge into the other room where the smell of warm food has both of their stomachs growling.

**************************************

The Styrofoam boxes of takeaway have already been laid out on the small glass coffee table at the center of the room. Booker and Andy both sit on the couch with containers balanced on their laps. Nile is sprawled out on the floor, Petersen’s laptop open next to her as she shovels a forkful into her mouth. Nicky takes up the remaining armchair and gratefully accepts the food handed to him. Joe settles beside Nile. While he does take the box Andy passes to him, he still watches Nicky out of the corner of his eye and doesn’t start eating until he sees that Nicky has taken a few bites.

Nile clears her throat. “I’ve been looking through this as best I can. I think that guy was telling the truth, though.” She looks at the laptop and shrugs. “Unless he’s got a backup somewhere. Which wouldn’t be surprising.”

“Copley is still sending a team in to torch the place.” Andy says around a mouthful of food. “He’ll let us know if they find anything.”

It’s a relief. Of course it is. The idea of Petersen telling the truth is strange and foreign to him, but nonetheless he feels some of the weight leave his shoulders.

Even knowing that, Joe still feels like he can’t draw in a breath. Feels like he’s standing at a precipice, simply  _ waiting  _ to tip over the edge. Nicky was safe. They were with their family. Petersen was dead, and might have actually kept to his word. So then why was he still sat in front of that TV? Why did his hands vibrate and feet itch, centuries’ worth of instincts honed from battle, telling him to prepare to fight his way out?

“-Joe. Joe. Hello?”

The sound of Nile’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. He had been staring, eyes unfocused, down at his food without ever having taken a bite. He coughs, ignoring the way Nicolo’s mouth twists in concern and Booker pointedly averts his gaze.

“Yeah. Sorry, what were you saying?”

Nile points to a webpage she’s pulled up, showcasing photos of an art gallery. “I was looking at a bunch of museums in the area. Nobody else volunteered to go with me.”

He can feel his face grow warm and he smiles at her. “I’d love to go.” He thinks a second. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Obviously,” She chuckles. “You smell terrible. I’m not going anywhere with you until you shower.”

“Neither of you are doing anything if you don’t eat, Joe.” Nicky’s voice is stern, the same tone he used to take with Booker jokingly when they’d first found him grifting in Germany. It would never be in the cards for them, but Joe had always imagined it would be his “angry parent” voice, so similar to his own father’s. Nicky gives him a very pointed glance.

Joe sheepishly takes a bite. His neglected stomach gargles in appreciation. “There. Are you satisfied,  _ amore mio?” _

“Not until your stomach stops crying for attention.”

Everyone else seems to find that  _ awfully  _ funny and takes the cue to laugh at his expense. Joe mock-pouts into his food, sending Nicky an affectionate wink for his troubles. He’s responded with one of those slow blinks he does, like a cat, carried by a sweet grin.

****************************************

After they’ve all finished eating, Nicky disappears back into their room, but leaves with a murmured encouragement against Joe’s shoulder to stay with the family a little longer. He busies himself with picking up the trash from their takeaway and piling it into a garbage bag. Nile keeps a running conversation as he works, planning out a circuit of galleries they’ll try to make it out to. Sometimes, when she mentions a specific piece, Andy will pipe up from the couch where she’s cleaning her labrys to give an anecdote about the artist- most of them unflattering. When he’s just about finished, Nile announces that she’s going to check out the sauna downstairs. Andy opts for a bath.

“I’m actually  _ old  _ now,” She remarks with wonder, stretching a few joints that pop when she stands. “And I can definitely feel it. Ow.”

Joe tries to laugh, but can only remember that she could have been killed getting them back.

The other two go their own ways, leaving Joe alone in the common room. He doesn’t return to Nicky just yet. He moves to the window and looks out over the city, trying to recall when last he’d been in Geneva. The 40’s, perhaps? He thought that they had been there towards the end of the second World War, but he couldn’t remember exactly. Some European cities tended to blend together, with how much they travelled around.

He hears the door click behind him and turns to see Booker in a fresh set of clothes and luggage in hand. He had disappeared early from lunch, running back to the room he was sharing with Nile and Andy before the topic of conversation could turn to him. Joe stares at the duffle bag in his grasp and presses his lips in a tight line with a sense of finality.

“Leaving so soon?”

Booker jumps a little at the sound of his voice, looking between Joe and the door out to the hall, clearly reluctant to have this interaction. “Oh… Uh- yes. It doesn’t feel right to stay.” He clears his throat. Looks down at his shoes. “You’re back now. That’s- that’s what matters,”

They stand for what seems like decades. Joe searches for the words- has been since they last saw each other. He thought he’d have more time to come up with a speech appropriate and had hoped it would be under much different circumstances. Still, he had to get  _ something  _ out. He’d regret it if he didn’t.

Joe sniffs. “I could blame you for all this. Petersen would never have found us without Merrick.”

He can hear Booker pull in a shallow breath that seems painful. Watery blue eyes now fixed solely on him.  _ So much hurt behind them, and for what?  _ “Do you?”

It takes Yusuf too long to respond, attempting to gauge his own emotions, finally replying with a simple “ _ No”, _ almost whispered. Bookers exhale seems to lift something between the two of them. He nods and combs shaky fingers through greasy blonde hair that’s due for a wash.

“I wish you’d told us.” Joe says quietly, trying to mask his frustration behind what he intends to be a kind moment. “We would never have turned away from you.”

“I know.” Booker laughs a little soullessly. “I didn’t think it would change anything for me.”

“And now?”

Booker doesn’t reply. Just gives Joe a look he can’t parse out- gets too caught in the riptide of his own emotions to know the depths of it. He hopes he will, in time. “I should get going. My train leaves in just over an hour.”

He begins to shift towards the door like a scared animal. Before he can go far, Joe closes the space between them in a few swift steps and pulls him into a hug that leaves both of them in shock.

“See you soon, Bastien.” The words are whispered into clothing. “Thank you for getting Nicky and I back.”

Despite his original hesitation, Booker now hugs him back in full force. “ _ Always,  _ Joey.” His voice is tender in a way Joe only heard him use with Nile. When they pull away, Booker is sniffing back tears that are willed away. He holds Joe at an arms distance, gives the muscle of his arms a squeeze. “See you soon.”

Just like that, he’s gone again. One final glance is exchanged between them when Sebastien hesitates in the doorway and then it’s shut behind him.

Neither of them were ready for Booker to rejoin the fray just yet. Joe still did not trust him as he once did- suspected that he wouldn’t for a long time. Sebastien seemed to believe the same, though most likely more from a point of serving his punishment dutifully than anything else. It will be good for him to be away from death for a while, Joe thinks. Still, he can’t help the bitter pang that resounds in his heart. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are yall! another warning, this chapter is some very emotional smut. it earns the rating

When Joe finally finds his way back to their room, Nicky is surprisingly still awake. The TV is on, playing some cooking show in a language he knows but not well enough to translate without effort, so he lets it fade into background noise. He slips into place on the bed, tapping Nicky up so he can lean back against Joe. His hands seem to have a mind of their own, but understand their purpose. They seek out every inch of Nicky that he can touch, running over his arms, stroking over his side. His fingers hover over Nicky’s chest. Yusuf can see it, all over again. The bone and sinew exposed to the air.

Nicolo seems to catch his hesitation and turns in his grip to pull Yusuf into a kiss. There’s no heat to the way their mouths come together, but it’s grounding. Nicky’s kiss could pull him from the depths of the ocean, he’s certain. Perhaps they already have.

Nicky brings a hand up to his face, thumb carefully tracing over a cheekbone. “You should get some rest,  _ tesoro mio.  _ I know you did not sleep.”

“I’m fine.” Joe sighs into the touch, urging his body to relax. “I don’t think I could, anyway.”

“You want to talk about it?”

Joe squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to get himself under control. He doesn’t want to start sobbing into Nicky’s arms just yet. “No. And yes. I don’t know.”

“Tell me, please?” Nicky coaxes. It’s merely an invitation, not a demand. Yusuf knows. If he says no, Nicky won’t press him any further tonight.

“I-“ Joe attempts to swallow back the emotion building in his throat. “I keep thinking about watching you. Watching that  _ woman _ tear you apart.”

Nicky’s touch is light on his arm, comforting. Doesn’t seek to hold his gaze. “You have seen me endure worse.”

“Yes, but- there was nothing I could do. Just sit there and allow it to happen. They didn’t even restrain me. I had a  _ couch.  _ And a bed. And a goddamned TV that showed me that wretched little cell he put you in. Then to find you were so close? That the whole time I could have-“

He stops himself and takes a long, steadying breath. A few tears manage to spill over despite his best efforts to hold them back. One of Nicky’s fingers curl forward to delicately brush them away.

“It’s okay, my love. You couldn’t have known” Nicky holds him firmly. “I went through what I did to find you again, and I would endure it a thousand times over to see us walk free.”

“I just-“

Nicky gives him a look. “Do not. Don’t blame yourself for this.”

Joe scoffs. “I will try.”

A natural, comfortable pause settles between them, the sound of the TV picking up the slack they leave off. Joe’s words feel aching, like he’s ripping them from some cavernous part of himself.

“Each time I think I’ve made my peace with the end, when I think I can accept one day letting go of all this- of  _ you _ \- something happens to prove me wrong. I learn that all I truly want is to stay with you forever, reclined and watching the ocean until it doesn’t matter if we’re alive or dead because those words have ceased to have meaning for us.” He exhales. “Is that selfish? To have been granted all this time and still fear it’s end?”

“No.” The smile Nicky gives him is just the shadow of one, a private little thing that lives only at the corner of his mouth. “It makes you human.”

“So we are still human, then?”

Nicolo hums. “Yes. Beautifully, wonderfully so.”

Something about his words makes Joe’s heart skip a beat. The buzzing in his skin finally settles a little, the blood a bit quieter in his ears. A moment passes, then another, neither of them saying anything. Then, ever so slowly, Yusuf buries his nose in Nicky’s neck. He finally lets down the wall that had been formed in his mind. The sobs come out muffled against Nicky’s skin, but they feel clean. Clear.

When the crying subsides, when they stop to appreciate holding and being held by one another, Nicky is the first to speak. “Nile was right. You smell terrible.” Joe laughs, surprised at the sound leaving him, all warm and full in his chest. “Really. There is still blood in your hair, too.”

“Yes? Well, I could say the same for you, my love.” He raises an eyebrow. “Shower with me?”

“Always.”

The water is hot, and the pressure is immaculate. They undress each other carefully, hands ghosting between them. When Joe’s fingers trace the lines of Nicky’s chest across the muscle, stuck in place, Nicky steals them away and presses them to his lips. Joe can only grin- heart and chest swelling too large to contain, it seems- and leads them both under the spray.

Normally, their showers are quick affairs, taken together to save time rather than enjoy each other’s company. This time, Joe is determined to luxuriate in it. Nicky carefully works through his curls, rubbing up a lather with shampoo to release them from the dried blood and bits of bone that have made their home there. Joe takes an almost militant approach to the remaining blood on Nicky’s body, scouring every inch of flesh he can find to make sure it’s washed away. He wants no trace of that place left behind. There will be scars. Tiny, invisible ones that they will continue to feel for the years to come. But  _ this-  _ Nicky’s body before him, laid bare in trust- that he can help.

Nicolo holds his shoulder as he finishes, Joe’s eyes searching for any spots he might have missed. “I am whole,  _ habibi.  _ As long as I’m with you, I am whole.”

“Oh, my Nicolo…” Joe murmurs. He stops the water and moves in to catch Nicky’s lips, reveling in the taste of the love of his lifetimes. There are no words to describe it. Just the feeling of coming home, of waves crashing against him and his breath of fresh air. Nicky’s hands start in his hair, combing through now-clean curls and move to trace the line of his beard as they kiss. They settle on his hip bones. Joe can tell by the way his fingers twitch that there’s a question behind them.

Joe pulls away, holding Nicolo’s face steady. “Are you sure?”

He nods. “I think…” He stops himself, frowning as he considers his words. “I think it would do me good. I don’t know. I need to feel like I am in control of my body again. I want to be with you.”

“You already are.” Joe jokes but smiles anyway. “But of course. Anything,  _ hayati.  _ How do you want me?”

Nicky’s grin, despite his pious background, is positively sinful. His hands tighten their grip on Yusuf’s hips. “Can I fuck you?”

The words wake a slumbering thing deep in his belly, curled up at the base of his spine. Electricity coursing through his veins.

“Your wish is my command.” Joe says. He leans into another kiss, this one far more heated than the last. Nicky catches his bottom lip between his teeth. Joe lets out a noise far less dignified than he was intending it to be. He gives Nicky’s ass a playful smack, enjoying the blush that rises up on his cheeks from it. “Go wait on the bed. I’m going to get ready in here.”

Nicky steps out of the shower, talking over his shoulder. “These are our bags from Valencia, correct? Do you think the lube is still in your side pocket?”

“Should be.” Joe replies and turns the water back on, testing the temperature before stepping under. “Unless the soldiers found it so incredibly interesting that they took it with them.”

He doesn’t get a reply, so he assumes Nicky is able to locate it. He focuses on cleaning himself quickly, heart beating a little faster in anticipation. He finally exits the bathroom some time later, towel wrapped around his waist. The sight he is greeted with is nothing short of breathtaking. It has him stopped in his tracks, watching while Nicolo remains unaware of his presence.

Nicolo is stretched out on the bed, legs flung apart. The curtains have been pulled open, the midday sun tinging his skin the color of white gold. He’s got a fist around himself, stroking slowly- not trying to get himself off just yet, just teasing. His other hand lays over his head. Fingers occasionally sneak into his hair and tug at the dark brown strands that have begun to dry.

Another time, Yusuf would have been happy to stay there. To simply watch Nicky take himself apart with nothing but his hands and the words of adoration Joe offers him. But today, he can’t bear to be apart from him for another second. He drops the towel and reaches the bed in a few long strides, settling down between Nicky’s legs like it’s his rightful place. He lays a few featherlight kisses to the insides of Nicolo’s thighs, revels in the way his muscles jump when his teeth scrape over the sensitive skin. He smells like soap, and like Nicky, and Joe thinks he might be happy to only smell him for the rest of time.

The rough edge of Nicky’s thumb reaches out and brushes Yusuf’s bottom lip. Stark blue eyes are blown wide, his mouth hung open. Joe leans into the touch. “How can I be so blessed as to be loved by you?”

Joe chuckles. “I could say the same,  _ amore.”  _ He lays another kiss down, this time to the dip of his hipbones. “I am the luckiest man alive, knowing that you love me. Even the moon and the north star, in all their light and wonder, are jealous of the way we love one another.”

A deep rumbling hum echoes through Nicky’s chest and vibrates against Joe’s cheek. A finger curls beneath Yusuf’s chin and leads him into a burning kiss that sets every nerve in his body aflame. Nicolo licks into his mouth, a reclaiming motion. Joe stifles a whimper.

Nicky pulls away, holding Joe’s face still so he can rake over it with a reverent gaze. “My poet. My artist.”

Joe’s cock twitches against Nicky’s hip. He grinds down, chasing the rough friction of his dick sliding against Nicky’s skin. “My muse,” Joe says, “My all, my everything.”

He ducks his head down to Nicky’s neck, lets his beard scrape against the sensitive skin, already knowing the sound it will elicit. It’s been so long since they’ve been able to be like this. Letting their movements be languid and slow, unhurried. Not since before Sudan.

He sucks a deep bruise into a spot just below the curve of Nicky’s jaw. The deep red doesn’t stay for long, but it’s long enough that Joe can lean back to watch it disappear, satisfied with the color it creates. Something insistent comes over him, the need to bring out every little noise from Nicolo that he can. He wants to replace the last few days of horror with his lips and his teeth, wipe the memory of pain away with a burning trail of skin on skin.

Nicky seems to notice the look in Joe’s eye, recognizes it. He tangles a hand in his curls, pulls just a little when his lips find another spot above his Adam’s apple.

“Just lay back, my Nicolo,” Joe says, a little breathless. “Let me take care of you, please?”

He acquiesces, eyes half lidded. The hands slink away and tangle in the sheets above his head. Joe thinks he could paint that, if he had the materials with him- Nicky’s rising blush, surrounded like something heavenly in the warm cream colors of the sheets. The skin on Nicky’s stomach is sun-warmed when he moves down over it. It’s deceiving, how soft the flesh there looks, how well it hides the muscle underneath. Joe trains his focus there first. He bites just to the left of his navel, has to stop from reaching for himself at the high little sound that escapes Nicky’s throat and travels lower ever so slowly to leave a press of his lips against Nicky’s cock to watch it jump. It’s flushed a magnificent rosy shade of pink, and he has no choice, really, but to stop and mouth over the head to pay due reverence.

There is a care to each motion he makes, each small movement. From there on he doesn’t touch Nicky’s dick- wants to draw it out as long as he can. Instead, he puts his mouth on every patch of skin he can. Arms and shoulders, muscular and broad, moving back down his torso and to his thighs. He bites and licks, watching the skin go red until Nicky is writhing beneath him. His breath has lost its measured cadence, a sheen of sweat forming on his chest.

Joe doesn’t look back up at Nicky’s face until he’s got his mouth around a nipple, fingers rolling the peak of the other. Nicky’s hips buck up at the contact and Joe lifts his eyes. The telltale tracks of tears are there to show where they’ve slipped from the corners of his eyes onto the pillow beneath him.

He’s rising in a second. “Nicky?”

Joe gets a hum in response while Nicky remembers how to form a coherent sentence. “I’m fine. It’s-“ His voice is rough like sandpaper. “Just. Overwhelmed, is all. Nothing bad.”

“Do you want to stop?”

“No,” It’s cute, how fast Nicky responds. “But I want to get you on your knees.”

When he attempts to protest, Nicky gives him a stern look that stops him dead in his tracks. “You care for everyone before yourself, Yusuf. Let me do this.”

There’s really no use in arguing when Nicky looks at him like that. He’d move mountains for those eyes. Joe does, however, lick a broad stripe up the length of his cock just to watch him shiver. He wants to take him fully in his mouth, but Nicolo is pulling him up for a kiss he’d never refuse.

He lets Nicky flip the both of them so that Nicky is on top. He likes the view like this, but he moves onto his knees before he can enjoy it for long. He curls a hand around the headboard, to brace himself.

Joe can hear the lube cap snap open somewhere behind him. Nicky’s body blankets over his back, breath warm against the nape of his neck.

“I love seeing you like this,  _ hayati.  _ Open to me.” Nicky says, bringing a finger down to circle his rim. A cascade of goosebumps rises over Joe’s arms at the contact. “Do you know how much I wish I had your silver tongue to describe the sight? I can never find the right words for the color of your lips after I’ve kissed them, or the sound you make when I get my mouth on you.”

Nicky is so rarely vocal when they’re like this, far more prone to quiet moans and muttered praises in Genovese. It’s intoxicating. Hearing beautiful words spill from his mouth, juxtaposed with his fingers teasing him open. Joe tries to back up into it, hips moving of their own accord.

“ _ Nicky-“  _ Yusuf gasps, feeling Nicolo’s index finger slip in to the second knuckle. The burn is just on the side of too much for a moment, but good all the same.

The way Nicky works him open makes his cock throb between his legs. He can already feel a bead of precum leaking from the head, shivers as it drips down onto the sheets. A second finder joins in alongside the first, crooking and brushing a spot that has Joe seeing stars. A high keen escapes him, Nicky’s name thick on his tongue.

An open-mouthed kiss is laid to his shoulder blade. “I was not lying when I said I would endure what Vera did to me again,” Nicky says, voice cloyed with arousal. “I would. I would take a thousand lifetimes of suffering if it meant I could have you for just one of them.”

The words feel immense, and the stretch of Nicky’s fingers is enough to drive him insane. He almost wants to get off just like this, with Nicolo’s voice in his ear and his long fingers thrusting inside him. But he knows he needs more. They both do.

“Please.  _ Please.”  _ Joe begs as another shudder wracks through him. Nicky scissors inside him. “I need you inside me. Please. I think I’m going to combust.”

There’s a chuckle as Nicky backs up off him. Joe whines a little when his fingers leave, feeling  _ far  _ too empty. He’s aware it’s a bit pathetic, but he doesn’t care. Right now, all that matters is Nicky getting close to him again. The lube cap is popped again, and Nicky slicks himself up quickly, lining up at Joe’s entrance. Nicky’s teeth scrape over the dimples at the bottom of his spine. One arm sneaks around Yusuf’s torso, hand splaying as wide as it can over his chest. The other helps guide himself in. Joe’s head drops and he bites down hard on his lower lip to just barely hold back the moan that rips through him.

Nicky’s presses his way in maddeningly slow, something about the slide carrying with it the strong sense of  _ right.  _ Of coming back to where they both belong. He stops when he’s finally buried down to the root, allowing Joe to expand and relax around him, but Joe is impatient today, has been kept from his love far too much in recent history. His cock bobs as Nicky rubs over his prostate, has to get a hand around himself and give a few strokes just to keep from trying to rut against the pillow.

When Nicolo finally starts to thrust in earnest, Joe’s certain he’s going to burst. Loves the feeling of his dick moving inside him slowly, letting it stretch his rim and fill him up. Loves feeling so  _ close.  _ So whole.

“Joe-“ Nicky groans, snapping his hips into a particularly hard thrust. “ _ Yusuf,  _ my love-“

He smiles, arcs against Nicky’s body so he can press his ass back into him. Throws an arm back to weave his hand into Nicky’s hair. Joe’s fist starts to work faster on himself, eyes rolling back in his head as another explosion of pleasure burns behind his eyes.

Nicky knocks Joe’s hand away from his dick, taking over in long strokes in time with his thrusts. He flicks a thumb over the head on the upstroke, smears the precum across the flushed skin. Heavy breath beats down on the back of his neck in an almost-kiss.

It doesn’t take long for Nicky’s hips to begin to stutter. Joe can barely think, barely breathe. Nicolo keeps up with this pace- pulling out until just the head is in before slamming back with a resounding  _ slap. _

“ _ Fuck _ , Nicky. I’m yours.” Joe says, too cock-drunk to form the right words for prose. “ _ Nico- _ “

Nicky’s hips skip a beat, then stop. Freezes almost entirely, besides the racing heartbeat Joe can feel through his back. Suddenly he’s being flipped over and Nicky is settling between his thighs, eyes with a glint of something hungry lurking behind them. He lines back up to Yusuf and pushes in, and  _ heavens and stars,  _ the angle is perfect. Nicolo’s voice is a rasping whisper as he hikes up one of Joe’s legs over his shoulder.

“Call me that again,” Nicky says, breathless and almost begging. “Please. Make it your name for me. Yours alone.” The unspoken words  _ ‘Instead of Vera’s’ _ linger between them.

A soft smile curls his mouth up at the edges, perhaps too tender for the circumstance. His hands cradle Nicky’s face. “Nico, Nico,  _ Nico _ .” Each comes as Nicky’s hips snap against Joe’s ass. His hand speeds up on Yusuf’s cock. “It’s so good, my love. I’m close-“

In a few deft motions- Nicky tightening his grip and capturing his mouth in a sloppy kiss, his dick hitting his prostate just right- Joe is shattering apart at the seams. His thighs tremble with the force of his orgasm, painting his abdomen in thick white streaks. Nicky fucks him through it, picking up speed to chase his own climax.

Joe keeps him in the kiss with a hand fisted in his hair, licking into his mouth, and sucking on his bottom lip. He holds Nicky steady through the shudder that takes over every muscle in his body as he empties into Joe. He revels in it, in the screwed-up expression on Nicky’s face and the way his cock pulses inside him. Welcomes the heavy weight of Nicky on top of him when he collapses. He’s breathing hard, and his arms wrap around Joe like he’s hanging on for dear life.

They take the time to come down from their high together, listening to each other’s breath. Nicky goes soft inside him but doesn’t pull out just yet. There’s a slight discomfort as he does, as Nicky’s cum begins to leak out of him, but it’s not unpleasant. They exchange lazy kisses with eyes half lidded. Nicky toys with their hands, folded together on the pillow above them.

“Marry me again?”

Nicky quirks an eyebrow at him. “Of course. Any particular reason? Or was it that good?”

Joe snorts. “Just because we can.” The phrase turns to something a bit bittersweet. “Because I’d marry you as many times as I could in every lifetime. Anything to hold you closer to me.”

“Nothing could take my heart away from yours.” Nicky’s voice is serious now, eyes insistent on holding Yusuf’s gaze. “Even in death, whenever it comes. I will be with you until the universe is no more.”

He nods in acknowledgement but doesn’t reply. It’s too much right now, his heart in his chest and his grief and his love and Nicky’s weight. It’s all a tidal wave of  _ everything _ that hits like a bus. The words  _ I love you _ are in his mouth before he knows it. They will never suffice.

But he whispers them anyway.

Joe’s eyelids are heavy. His exhaustion is finally catching up with him, and he can feel himself drift into rest. When he wakes, there will be a moment of terror, where he reaches out for Nicky and fears his fingers will only be met with air. But Nicolo will pull him closer as he shoulders off his own nightmares, eliminating any space between them. Eventually, when they’ve recovered enough, they’ll go back to doing jobs. To doing as much good in the world as they can.

But, for now, Joe is going to sleep. He is going to sleep, surrounded by Nicky, and his love, and their family. The world can wait for now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading yall!! this has been so so much fun to write, and I have adored all the wonderful comments. I absolutely plan on writing more for these two, because I'm absolutely smitten with them. Thank you so so much to my wonderful beta, roses-are-red713 on tumblr!   
> i super love and appreciate all comments/kudos <3


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